


labyrinthine

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Depression, Self-Harm, Suicide, honestly this is just really depressing and graphic so pls proceed with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10400118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The average life expectancy of a Japanese man is sixty-eight years and Bokuto wonders how he’s meant to make it through the fifty he has left.





	

Bokuto knows it’s wrong.

He knows it’s wrong as soon as the blade touches skin for the first time.

He knows when blood trickles down his arm and hits the carpet and his brain can’t even comprehend that it’ll stain that it’s oh-so wrong.

But he can’t bring himself to stop.

***

 

One particular morning comes with a cold sweat and a bit too much friction between the cuts and his thighs. The searing pain doesn’t come as a shock, not after so many times, but the weight still heavy on his shoulders does.

Usually, it’s the ache of the wounds that brings him crashing back down to reality – an undeniable reminder that _maybe things aren’t all that bad_. It’s the throbbing down to his bones that prompts him to slip out from under the covers and see to the cuts, sticking haphazard plasters across his thighs if necessary.

It’s not like the cuts were deep, anyway. And as he lay in bed later that night, after an unusually bad day, he realised that perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps he’d feel better if they ran that millimetre or two thicker.

***

 

It worked.

It felt right to know that beneath his kneepads were scars that were carved into his skin, rather than scratched.

He grinned and laughed with a newfound vigour, and grinned and laughed more when Komi commented he was glad Bokuto was back to his normal self, following yesterday’s rut. Bokuto was glad, too.

Maybe this was the trick to it all.

If this brought him happiness, then he was a masochist, for sure. But more than that, if it brought him happiness, then he’d just have to see how deep he could go.

 

***

 

Sometimes Bokuto became self-aware.

In class, as he clawed at the fabric on his thighs with half a mind, he would suddenly realise how fucked up he was. He’d stare blankly at the blackboard, eyes glazed as he sank further and further down into the recesses of his mind.

If anyone found out, they’d realise what a burden he was. His mood swings frustrated his team enough as it was. If he were accidentally late to practice just one day, forced to change in front of them all, they’d soon be disgusted. _Akaashi_ would be disgusted.

Bokuto gulped.

He didn’t pick up the blade for six whole days.

But then, acting with its usual spontaneity, his brain decided it no longer cared. 

So, he picked up the blade again.

 

***

 

His brain soon decided it enjoyed the thrill of it all. It was wrong, of course it was, so it was tempting to see how far he could take it: how far up he could drag the lines before they settled above his knee pads, how long it would take someone to notice. 

In the end, it wasn’t a team member, but a babbling first-year who had been watching Fukurodani’s usual Tuesday scrimmage from the stands above. She had exhausted all her confidence to pull him away from the match after practice ended, stammering to meet behind the gym.

His teammates cheered him on from behind – “Ah, yet another confession for our dearest Boku-chan!” – as he made his way outside.

“Y-y-your scars! I saw them!”

Those words had shocked him back to reality. As he stared down at this small, blonde girl, with a genuine concern in her eyes for someone she didn’t even know, he realised that his brain was taking it too far. He needed to regain control. He couldn’t imagine that look on his teammates’ face. He didn’t want to.

Bokuto convinced her not to tell anyone. He said he was trying to stop and that the wounds were old. He said telling his friends or family was useless now. He said he was on the path to recovery. She gave him a watery smile and trusted that he would get better soon. 

Later that evening, Bokuto realised his lies had left an empty sinking feeling inside him, so he scratched away at his stomach until it drew blood.

 

***

 

Things always got worse when Bokuto became impatient. He’d bring a blade to school, tucked and hidden neatly in his bag, just in case he suddenly craved it. 

He’d find himself in a bathroom stall at lunch, drawing only enough blood to satisfy him for the time being, _yeah, that’s all_ , until suddenly being satisfied was seeing red gush uncontrollably from his legs. This time it was too much. This time he’d fucked up. 

Walking around with toilet paper wrapped around his thighs to quell the bleeding enough was humiliating. No one knew, obviously – no one paid enough attention to his pant legs on any usual day to notice the wads of tissue beneath.

Regardless, he felt stupid.

He felt like a child and decided he should know better than to act so rash. 

This time, he stopped for three whole weeks. 

But biting his nails wasn’t enough, nor was biting his gums or his lips or eventually, his hands. He needed more.

It scared him. When had it all turned from a coping mechanism to a comfort?

***

 

_[02:03AM] Akaashi: Shouldn’t you be sleeping?_

_[02:03AM] Bokuto: nah man sleep is for the weak_

_[02:03AM] Bokuto: but what r u doing up at this time messagin me, i thought you’d want ur precious beauty sleep lol_

_[02:04AM] Akaashi: I’m not tired._

_[02:04AM] Akaashi: And I was just wondering if you were okay._

_[02:06AM] Bokuto: yah why wouldn’t i be ??_

_[02:06AM] Akaashi: You’ve just seemed a bit off lately, that’s all. I was wondering if something had happened._

_[02:07AM] Bokuto: way 2 be vague buddy_

_[02:07AM] Bokuto: but nah nah i’m all gd u’ve probs just caught me @ the wrong moments_

_[02:09AM] Akaashi: I see. Well, if anything is ever wrong, know you can talk to me._

_[02:10AM] Bokuto: aw u care about me uwu_

_[02:12AM] Akaashi: Someone has to._

_[02:12AM] Akaashi: But I don’t mind._

***

 

When Bokuto read the messages back in the morning, a shiver ran through him. 

It was so easy to make everything look like it was fine because, for the most part, it was.

The only problem was his brain.

***

 

When Kuroo opened his front door, Bokuto smiled the most genuinely he had in weeks.

“Bro! Long time no see!” he exclaimed, pulling the taller boy into a short, back-clamping hug before he hurried into his home. It was small – the price a family pays for living near Tokyo – but the squashed space had a cosy and familiar feeling regardless. 

He wished he could feel like this all the time. 

“So, how’s life?” Kuroo questioned once they had settled down after hours of intense Mario Kart battles and routine binge watching of their favourite late night television programmes, “Anything new?”

“Same old, man. Always is. How ‘bout you, huh?”

“There’s a girl. Mizuki.”

Bokuto raised an eyebrow. “What about Kenma?”

“Complicated,” Kuroo sighs.

“I get it, bro. Go for her, then – whatever helps you cope.”

Bokuto would be a hypocrite to say otherwise.

 

***

 

Practice was particularly gruelling today. Last night, Bokuto had decided he deserved the pain, slashing in monotonous, half-hearted motions until his eyes absolutely refused to stay open any longer. Only then had he flopped down into his bed and wished it all away.

He was paying the price now. What was usually an uncomfortable stinging sensation was now an unbearable dull ache across his thighs, amplified with every jump made and dive executed. 

He winced every time.

At the end of practice, Akaashi pulled him aside and asked what was wrong.

For a moment, Bokuto felt it would be so easy to tell him, tell Akaashi that the reason he was in pain were the bruised scars bleeding out across his legs at this very moment and that there was a constant feeling in his brain that sometimes made him want to stay in bed forever and other times to tear away at his skin until he could feel it coming undone from the inside and–

Bokuto laughed. “Just a bad grade, man. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Maybe those were the wrong words because Akaashi’s eyebrows only furrowed deeper before he stalked off to get changed.

Just _fine_.

 

***

 

“It’s weird,” Sarukui said, pulling his top over his head, “Bokuto’s still so energetic it honestly amazes me, but somehow it feels… less than usual, doesn’t it?”

Akaashi sighed. “Yes. I’m worried. Usually, when it affects his gameplay, it’s so easy to reel him back in. Something about this feels different.” 

The room was filled with murmurs of agreement.

 

***

 

Bokuto lets a faceless figure pour him a shot.

He lets another work their fingers up and down his arms in light spirals.

A third drags him up on the floor in a dancing mess of tangled limbs.

It’s fun. It’s really fun. Bokuto can _feel_ the heat of the body against him – just for once, but that once is enough. Hot lips against his own feel comforting – they’ll be gone by morning, but that’s all he needs. When he is dragged away by an overly concerned Kuroo, he wants to shout and cry and scream.

_I was happy, Kuroo, let me be happy._

But he doesn’t say a word. He flashes a sweaty-toothed grin and gulps the cup of water down in seconds. He lets Kuroo drag him aimlessly around the party, drinking then small talk then drinking again, until it’s much too late and they’re stumbling back to Kuroo’s apartment together.

Minutes pass in seconds and before his brain can comprehend it he’s in bed, boring his eyes into the darkness around him, brushing knees with his best friend as his brain spins in circles.

“W-why’d you kiss him?” Kuroo slurred, turning to face Bokuto, “We both know you’re not into one night stands, Bo.”

Bokuto has the audacity to giggle. “Well, maybe I am now.”

“I gotta call bullshit, bro,” Kuroo hiccupped, “Otherwise we’d _totally_ have fucked by now.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows, “Fine… Fine! Yeah! Let’s do it!”

In the end, both were too tired and lethargic to bother.

The pair slept until noon.

 

***

 

Bokuto didn’t think of it as self-destructive.

Didn’t think of it as dangerous, either.

Bokuto didn’t think much about the scars lining his thighs at all, until they were oozing a deep maroon and showed no signs of stopping.

These were not just cuts this time. These were gashes. These were culmination of craving more and more, wanting deeper and deeper – a step too far. His legs were _mutilated_. It was all he could do not to screech in pain.

Bokuto could only moan, shaking mournfully at the sight of his below.

This was no longer his body.

This was past the point of return.

When his brain told him that, he was silent.

Bokuto passed out shortly after.

 

***

 

It became fun to see how far he could push himself.

Different methods, too. He could barely control it.

He’d smack his head against the wall when he knew no one was listening, a monotonous motion until the dull ache forced his eyes shut.

He’d bite on his arms, seeing how long he could shut out the pain for before skin was breaking and he was forced to stop.

He began to wonder where Bokuto ended and this other man began.

 

***

 

“Show me your legs,” Akaashi demands one day. 

Bokuto’s blood runs cold. 

It had been a mistake. Akaashi had came back to the clubroom to locate his sports bag and there, in the corner, stood Bokuto shimmying a knee supporter down his leg. A flash of red lines was all Akaashi saw before it was yanked back up.

“Jus-just pretend you never saw that, okay. Please, Akaashi. Please.” 

“I can’t.”

Bokuto began to cry.

Akaashi could only stare.

 

***

 

Once Akaashi knew, it was impossible to ignore.

It was as if he had been staring at a mask this entire time. Underneath its well-practiced laughs and grins was something sinister, something that brought a chill to Akaashi’s bones. Beyond the façade, there was only emptiness. 

A void.

It was Bokuto – of course it was – but twinged with something much, much darker.

A few nights after the incident, Akaashi paid a visit to the Bokuto family home. Only a single light was on. 

_Bokuto’s parents were out._

Discomfort settled deep within as he knocked for a third time.

_Bokuto isn’t answering._

By this point, Akaashi was banging on the door.

_Bokuto could be hurt._

The door opened.

Akaashi lowered his raised fist.

Bokuto shot a weary smile.

“I was just sleeping,” he yawned, but Akaashi knew that the dark red encrusted beneath his fingernails said otherwise.

“I’m coming in,” Akaashi replied, slipping through the door and toeing off his shoes before the other boy had a chance to resist. 

It was a small victory, Akaashi thought: to keep Bokuto company for just a few hours that Wednesday night. But if Akaashi was here, then Bokuto wasn’t in danger, and that was enough for him.

 

***

 

Bokuto gets the feeling his days are numbered.

His eyes lose their focus and his grin begins to slip and his right leg stops bouncing manically as it always does and he just feels _empty_.

The cutting was no longer a comfort – instead, a part of his routine. Somehow, he felt that was worse. 

The average life expectancy of a Japanese man is sixty-eight years and Bokuto wonders how he’s meant to make it through the fifty he has left.

 

***

 

Akaashi was unrelenting.

Somewhere deep within, Bokuto appreciated this. He appreciated the company to and from school, the lunchtimes spent side-by-side, practices under Akaashi’s watchful eye.

But it also made him feel guilty. There was no coming back from this; Akaashi’s attempts were in vain.

The problem escalated when Akaashi demanded to see his legs.

“You know I can’t do that, Akaashi,” Bokuto withered under his stare, hurrying to pack the rest of his sports bag, “I...”

Bokuto couldn’t get the words out.

_I haven’t stopped._

_I’m sorry._

_I don’t want you to see me like this._

It seemed Bokuto did not seem to say anything at all. “I know it isn’t easy, Bokuto,” Akaashi took a tentative step forward, “but I need to see. I can’t stop you from… doing this to yourself – it’s not that easy, I know,” and seeing the grey cloud over Bokuto’s dull yellow eyes, breathed, “Come here.”

Bokuto wondered when a hug stopped bringing warmth.

 

***

 

_I’m not well. In fact, I haven’t been well for a long time._

_At first, it wasn’t too bad. It was more of a test against myself, I think, to see how far things could go. I didn’t think much of it. I’d remind myself that happiness is a part of who I am. So being sad sometimes was fine._

_But sometimes became a lot of the time and I’m not quite sure when. I don’t think anyone could say, really – I believed my own lies for so long. You think it’s a rough patch then all of a sudden that rough patch is just your life. That’s normality._

_To my mother, I’m sorry I couldn’t always be the young boy I was. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You brought me up so brilliantly and I’m not sure where I went wrong but it certainly wasn’t because of you._

_To my team, I’m sorry for not sticking it out until Nationals. I’m sorry as captain and as ace. I hope next year you guys can make it to the top._

_To my classmates, I’m sorry if you ever noticed something was wrong with me. Don’t feel guilty._

_To Kuroo, I’m sorry for not confiding in you like I should have._

_And to Akaashi, I’m sorry you weren’t enough to fix me._

_I guess I’m being selfish, doing what I’m about to do. I never saw myself as a selfish person, but things have changed and I’m not sure I can really say who I am anymore, anyway._

_Bokuto_

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe my first fic in the haikyuu fandom is this
> 
> usually all i write is fluff and happy endings but then i just churned this out at 2 in the morning and boom here we are
> 
> pls if you're feeling any of this, talk to someone about it bc i know we find comfort in reading stories such as these so we know we aren't alone in our problems but just don't bottle it all up ok


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